Lost
by CertafiedGeek
Summary: Severus Snape has an accident with a time turner, ends up in early 20th century France. Written as a Christmas present for my roommate. Not romance - just a "wouldn't it be fun if they met" fic.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

…and then she walked away."

Severus Snape put his quill down and moved his diary to the side. Fastidious as he was, he did not want tear drops to smudge the fresh ink. Sitting up on the couch, he heaved what must have been the fifth sob of his entire life, and at least 4 of the previous had happened within the last 2 days since aforementioned _she_ had aforementionedly walked away.

A box of tissues helpfully popped into existence on the table next to him. _Of course_, he thought, dully, blowing his nose and discarding the tissue in the newly-existing wastepaper bin at his feet, _The manuscript of Merlin's lost prophecy? Impossible. A box of Kleenex? The Room of Requirement happily obliges._ Severus looked around his favorite study haunt, and noticed that while it still contained a perfectly level desk (an endangered species in a school as old as Hogwarts), an assortment of his favorite raven feather quills, and endless bottles of never-blot ink, now it had very subtly (or so it thought) tried to be as comforting as possible without making it obvious enough to anger the boy it had learned was proud about these sorts of things. The room's potion ingredients cabinet was now very prominently displaying the ingredients to a Perk Poultice, and it had casually slipped a new book into his usual stack of textbooks, entitled _Reparo Heart: The Smart Wizard's Guide to Getting Back on the Broom_. Ordinarily Severus would have yelled at the room for its impertinence (and, while he was at it, for the casually placed shampoo bottles he'd been finding here and there), but at the moment he had other things on his mind. He had been reliving those last moments over and over again in his mind, as well as that day on the lakeside when that accursed word had escaped him—pressed from him after years of torment from James, he was sure.

If only he could have told Lily one of the thousand responses that had occurred to him since her horrible accusations. If only he could have been told of the events on the lakeside before they had happened. If only he would have _known_ of this whole mess_._

Severus moved to recline on the couch, but something caught his eye as he was lying down. He sat up. It was the potion ingredients cabinet; it was now prominently placing an entirely different set of ingredients for a potion he did not recognize. He was about to brush it off as some other insipid gesture on the room's behalf, when he spotted a peculiar item next to the ingredients: an empty hourglass.

Severus Snape prided himself on being a very rational 15-year-old. He was not the type to wait for hours outside Flourish and Blott's for a book he knew would be just as good and half as cheap 6 months later. He never bothered with worthless hobbies like Quidditch when he could train himself to enjoy useful leisurely activities like potions making. He knew that time-turners were notoriously unhelpful and often harmful when used to change large, important past events. However, as love and grief are many things and none of them are logical, Severus Snape promptly set to work building a time-turner.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Severus opened his eyes, and then shut them again immediately; the room had yet to stop spinning since he regained consciousness. _Well,_ he thought, feeling the straw poking into his back through his threadbare cloak, _while I'm lying here, less able than Sirius Black in a alphabet-reciting contest, I suppose I might try to piece together why the Room of Requirement has suddenly seen fit to turn itself into a barn._

With his considerable willpower, Severus turned his mind away from his nausea and toward reconstructing the events of the past hour. It was just another problem to solve, and the facts laid themselves before his mind like an equation on a chalkboard. First, judging by the headache, nausea, and dizziness, he had received some sort of head injury, probably a concussion. Second, he was now in a barn, or in a place very good at pretending to be a barn. Third, the last thing he could remember was… was…

A series of unconnected thoughts blew into Severus' mind like loose newspapers in a train station. The room of requirement had remained impertinent and rude by placing snippets of revolting muggle literature on the subject of unrequited love in his library books. The best place to start would be platform 9 ¾, where he could stuff James in an empty trunk and leave him for the thestrals to sniff out. Professor LeBlanc might be serious about the proposed trip to his home town to study alchemy's influence on potions making. His hand was shaking as he recited an incantation to seal the tiny hourglass before him. The Escaper's Carpet can be placed in any location to break anti-apparating enchantments over the area it covers. It was finally ready, all that was left was to clear his mind and turn on the spot—

Severus' eyes flew open. The room had finally stopped spinning but his mind, fastidious as always, ignored the irrelevance of his surroundings and was instead busy organizing the last of the events. He had completed the time turner, stepped onto the Escaper's Carpet, and just as he was preparing to disapparate to Platform 9 ¾, he had… he had…

_Tripped!_ he thought, anger and self-loathing rising in his gut as he sat up, _After I had prepared for any and all potential clerical errors, incantational mispronunciations, ingredient potency imbalances and prohibitive enchantments of the Room of Requirement, the Achilles heel of my brilliant, perfect, best-laid plans was my accursed shoelaces!_

Severus slowly got to his feet and looked around, the nausea making him grateful he had forgotten to eat for the past few days. Something was not right. He could tell he was in a muggle establishment as he could now see that the barn was, in fact, a stable, and even the fantastically technologically backward wizarding world had learned to stop riding horses to blend in with muggles about 10 years ago. He quickly scanned the room and determined there was no other useful information to be gleaned from the area as to where he was or how he could get back to Hogwarts. He tucked the time turner safely into his shirt, gripped his wand in his side pocket, and opened the door to the barn.

Cloaked figures rushed about hither and thither over cobblestone streets, eager to get out of the winter wind that now stung Severus like a hex. Clearly he had been mistaken about being in a muggle establishment, since cobblestones and cloaks were far more commonplace in the wizarding world, and so Severus decided there was no reason he couldn't disapparate on the spot back to Hogwarts from wherever he was now (someplace that was this cold in the middle of May. Probably Scotland). He was just getting ready to turn when something caught his eye – a peeled and yellowing poster, stuck to the side of a shop.

Two facts struck Severus like blows to the head, and shattered his still-fragile balance, bringing him to his knees. First, the poster was in French, which meant he would have to plan out apparition points which steered around muggle-inhabited areas between his present location in Paris (the poster was for the Paris Opera House) back to Hogwarts. Far more important, however, was the date of the performance it advertised.

**1****ere**** Fevrier, 1908**

_Shit._


	3. Chapter 3

_Before I begin, I realized the preface I wrote at the start of chapter 1 somehow never materialized, and as this is my first fanfiction and I'm relatively new at this, I can't figure out how to fix it. So, here it is now._

_Salutations! My name is Liz, and this is my first fanfiction (yay!). Before you embark on my glorious wordy adventure, I feel like I should say 1 or 2 things: First, I am writing this as a Christmas present for my roommate Jadis, who is a rather large fan of both Harry Potter and Phantom. It is meant to be somewhat silly, so if you seek enlightenment, seek elsewhere; don't let my adequate grasp of grammar and syntax fool you. Finally, here is the part where one usually provides a disclaimer, but let's be real: if Ms. Rowling or Mr. Weber wanted to sue me, no disclaimer on this earth would protect me, so why bother?_

Chapter 3

Severus stole down an alleyway to get away from the crowds who were all gasping at his most indecorous tee shirt and jeans. _At least I have a cloak,_ he thought gratefully, grasping it tightly around him against the cold January air as he continued down the alleyway and searched for a doorstop where he might sit and think properly. When he found one, he sat down, put his head in his hands, and breathed deeply, clearing his mind to better tackle this new problem.

He was in early 20th century Paris. He had nothing but his wand and the clothes on his back. He knew no one, and had no money or services with which to acquire help. He had lost even the fragments of the time turner in the apparating/time traveling, so there was no hope of repairing it. Furthermore, he was hungry.

Severus ignored the growling beast that had taken up residence in his stomach and tried to think of something, _anything_ that might be of use to him. Oddly, he found his thoughts settling upon Professor LeBlanc's field trip: the one that had likely distracted him in the disapparation and led him here. Suddenly, Severus stood up and silently blessed the natural longevity of wizards; the professor would have been a young man at this point, and was no doubt working on the mood-changing nail polish which would make him famous in about 10 years (before it somehow fell into muggle hands, and he was imprisoned for some time for breaching the International Statute of Secrecy). He had lived in Paris or Beauxbatons (or Azkaban) his whole life before coming to Hogwarts, so he must be in the city.

Severus sat down again, his optimism gone as quickly as it had come. Paris was a city as enormous as it was unfamiliar. He could be back in his normal time by the time he knocked on the right door, and what would he say to the muggles until he did? _Excuse me, I'm looking for a world-famous potions master by the name of Jean-Phillippe LeBlanc. Do you know him? No? OBLIVIATE!..._ He would need to find his way to a non-muggle area of Paris; that would increase his chances sharply. Then he would need to count on pure serendipity to lead him to the professor… or to someone who knew him.

Another sudden thought hit Severus hard, and he stood up again in excitement. He had something better than a young future felon; Professor Binns had been talking just three weeks ago about the famous Parisian socialite and muggle-lover, Henri LeStrange. Around this time he had been pressing for the inclusion of basic mathematics and arts courses in wizarding schools' curricula. He had been estranged from the LeStrange family for suggesting that wizarding schools should in any way model their muggle counterparts, but before he did, he had become a rather famous socialite in Paris, and often patronized such establishments as the Louvre and the Paris Opera House. He had even tried to convince other wizards and witches of the artistic merit of muggle works at one point, but had been laughed out of every major establishment. [EN Am I (and Henri) the only person bothered by the fact that wizards don't know Algebra? Or that there are no courses in great works of wizarding literature? Or that witches and wizards don't listen to the Beatles? I mean, c'mon.]

The poster had given directions to the opera house. If he could somehow find a way inside, he could explain his predicament to Monsieur. LeStrange. If he seemed the honest type, he could at least get some guidance on finding young professor LeBlanc. If he seemed smart instead, he could offer warnings about his future in exchange for his help (they would do him no good; the Law of Temporal Continuity would ensure Henri would die a pauper in Rome 40 years from now, _but the Law would not be discovered for another 50_, Severus schemed). A new time-turner could be purchased… more likely created, since time permits were harder to achieve than breakfast, [EN that one's for you, Jadis] and he would be back to Hogwarts before the end of the week.

Severus carefully wrapped his cloak around him and put up its hood to hide his anachronisms. He found his way back to the poster, and followed its directions, silently blessing his whim last year to read French alchemical books not in translation, and consequently teach himself French. After a few wrong turns and poorly pronounced requests for directions, he found himself outside the Parisian Opera house just as the muggles were filing in for the night's performance. It truly was a spectacular sight; ladies in brightly colored silks and completely ridiculous hats were walking with their escorts through the many arched doorways, while spectacular golden angels overlooked the scene as they stood on top of enormous Corinthian columns. Severus was not the least bit interested in taking in the sights, however, and he found a niche to the side of the building where he could watch for Monsieur LeStrange. What would a muggle-lover look like? No doubt like any of the other well-dressed muggle fools, tittering to each other about who had been caught with her bodice partially untied in the company of so-and-so. _He must have taken his wand with him to these performances,_ Severus thought, _I should look for someone with a wand-shaped bulge in his coat pocket._ [EN Bow chicka bow-ow]

A horrible-smelling cloth was pressed over Severus' nose and mouth. He struggled, but the world started to spin, and darkness swallowed him whole.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

_Hidey-ho! I don't have anything new to add, but italics are pretty _

For the second time within the past two hours, Severus came to and kept his eyes closed to stop the world from spinning. _Fantastic. More head trauma. Madame Pomfrey will think I've been playing chicken with the Whomping Willow again._ Severus was about to move his hands to his face when he suddenly realized they were bound.

It took all of Severus' self-control not to move or react any more than he already had; he did not want to risk alerting his likely nearby captor that he had regained consciousness. And so, for the second time that day, Severus remained very still with his eyes closed and set his considerable intellect to work piecing together the situation. He felt no new soreness in his head or anywhere else, which ruled out a blow to the head or a stunning spell. Not only was Severus in considerably less danger of permanent brain damage, he had been knocked out by non-magical means or a potion. He could feel that his face had recently been wiped clean, and so chloroform seemed more likely (ether was most likely, actually). Considering that few wizards bothered to learn about non-magical means of knocking their enemies unconscious, it was likely that his captor was a muggle.

This news both revolted and pleased Severus. On the one hand, a muggle had managed to get the better of him with implements as crude as ether and a rag. On the other, a muggle would be considerably easier to stun. He just needed to very slowly, and very carefully get his wand from his right breast pocket…

"It's not there," said a young male voice in a lyrical sort of French, "and I'm perfectly aware you've been conscious for the past few minutes, so you can open your eyes and face me properly."

Severus forced himself to open his eyes and look at the speaker, in spite of the fact that some parts of the room were still spinning. He was in a dark, underground cellar, only without roots or barrels and with a full pipe organ (who puts a full pipe organ in his basement? Severus thought briefly [EN seriously]), a luxuriously decorated bed in an alcove, ornate candelabras supporting countless candles, and numerous props and costumes that might have been found in an actor's closet. Before him sat a man a few years older than himself, dressed entirely in black. The person in question was looking directly at him with an expression of bemusement, as if he had just made a clever move in a round of gobstones. At least, Severus thought he wore an expression of bemusement, as half of his face was covered in a white mask.

"Why—" Severus started (in French).

"—didn't I ask you to stop pretending sooner? I wanted to see if you'd stolen that stick in your breast pocket—the silver filigree in the handle is beautiful craftsmanship, by the way—or if it belonged to you. Judging by how you reached for it as your first line of defense in an unfamiliar situation, it would seem that you not only own the wand, but know how to use it as well. Pity really; if you'd been a common thief, I would have knocked you out again and dropped you off with the rest of the pickpockets who terrorize my patrons with only a rose and a warning—I am a practical man at heart, and I know that an opera house cannot function if our patrons cannot pay for their tickets. It also gets terribly boring sometimes, hiding in shadows and listening to the prattle of the new gentry, and knocking out riffraff makes for a delightful distraction. In any event, a wizard usually has better things to do on a Tuesday night than highly resemble a pickpocket and skulk in the shadows of a—what is your word, 'muggle?'—a muggle art institution."

"How—"

"—do I know what a wand, a wizard, and a muggle are? Well, when one spends one's life in the shadows watching other people very carefully, one tends to notice things that a more casual observer might miss. Don't worry, your and Monsieur LeStrange's secret is perfectly safe with me. However, speaking of things I already know is a rather tedious activity for me, and so I would like to propose a change of subject: who are you, and what were you doing lurking around my opera house on this fine winter evening?"

"Your opera house?" said Severus, trying to stall while he thought quickly.

"My opera house," the boy in the mask said, "and anyone who doubts it need only go to the manager's office and see my name on the deed of ownership pinned to the wall over his desk. The most effective deeds are handed over at knife point, I've found. However, all of this is irrelevant; I promise you that future attempts to stall or distract me will not be so effective."

_He's brilliant,_ Severus thought, _and not averse to violence, but also vain and absurdly protective of what he chooses to value. I can use that._

"How much know you of people who use the wands?" Severus asked in the best French he could manage.

"Ah, a Brit?" said his captor, switching to English, fluid as silk, "I would have guessed an American from your utterly bizarre and tasteless clothing, but perhaps the fashion in London is truly as horrendous as Madame Clarion complains every Monday and Thursday. As I said before, however, I grow bored—"

"I do not ask for intelligence like a dog begging for scraps," said Severus, taking his turn with the interruptions, "I ask because if you have only gleaned your information from observing Monsieur LeStrange and whatever other fools he takes to this… institution of what I suppose your kind must consider art, there is something you do not know: my kind does not require a wand to use magic. In fact, the first indication of who we are comes when we are unwanded children and under great duress. When I was five, my father had placed me in the garden shed for an hour to teach me to avoid my chores* and before he could close the lock, the structure was in flames. Now, age and discipline certainly temper this untamed sort of magic, but I would like to inform you that ropes severely disagree with my constitution and your precious opera house is at least 70% wooden beams. In light of this information, I would advise you to free me and return my wand, or else I cannot say what might transpire in my duress, although, quite frankly, whatever it is will most certainly be an improvement upon this place."

His captor blinked, and responded in a voice that was cool enough to hide in its tone the enormous rage which his slowly clenching fist betrayed. "I'll take my chances, Monsieur. In the meantime, I would advise you to incline your delicate constitution in favor of ropes, as they will not be going anywhere for now. I would also advise you to learn to enjoy what you suppose my people must consider art. Rehearsals begin today for a brand new opera from Genoa, which will star a fresh new diva who happens to be our illustrious manager's daughter, Carlotta. I am giving you this advice because I can personally assure you she is the most positively atrocious chanteuse that ever disgraced my stage, and you happen to be lying in the exact spot in my dungeon where the clearest, loudest strains of the music upstairs can be heard. She was going to have a rather unfortunate accident before rehearsals began, but I believe the production will survive if the star is replaced a little later in the rehearsal process. Good night, Monsieur. I hope you come to appreciate our diva's desire to stay late and practice that high C which she just can't quite reach."

The stranger in the mask stood up, walked stiffly to the staircase, and disappeared. Severus listened to the footsteps echo and die away before he accepted that his jailer would not be coming back to give him so much as a crust of bread or a cup of water. Tired, cold, thoroughly uncomfortable and ravenously hungry, Severus tried to curl in the most comfortable position he could muster; he would need sleep that was not physically or chemically induced if he was going to outwit this person, whom he could only presume was a masked lunatic who enjoyed kidnapping as a sort of hobby. This thought did not sit right with Severus, however; he could understand why he'd been knocked out, but why was he still here? What good is an anonymous wizard to a deranged muggle? He was just about to drift off and hope his dreams pieced this puzzle together when suddenly, he heard voices. After a few minutes, those voices started singing.

It did not take Severus long to determine which was Carlotta.

*It had actually been for the night, and for hiding his liquor in a naïve attempt to prevent the nightly drunken rage against his mother, although Severus saw no reason to acquaint his captor with this information.


	5. Chapter 5

_[Hi everyone! I hope you enjoy the next chapter here. Before I continue, a small note on the previous chapters: the sections where I wrote "[EN]" and then some note or another, I meant to write "AN," for author's note. I'm much more in the habit of writing editor's notes than author's notes, and so I apologize for the confusion.]_

Chapter 5

After what felt like days, the rehearsal ended and Severus, due to his extreme hunger and possible concussion, found that his usual multitude of thoughts had whittled themselves down to two. First, he clearly needed to research singers like Carlotta to perfect the deafening spell he had been working on, as she had clearly already inflicted one on herself. Second, he would have gone toe-to-toe with eight whomping willows to have more heavily researched un-wanded magic in his spare time before now. He had tried to magically summon his pocket knife from the pile of his pocket contents on the table across the room (his wand had been hidden), but all he had managed to do was break the table in half in a particularly virulent fit of frustration.

He was about to try again when he heard footfalls on the staircase. Severus did not bother to feign unconsciousness this time, and had already prepared a steely glare to greet his captor. Then he saw that the stranger was carrying several loaves of bread, a wheel of cheese and a bottle of wine. Severus silently blessed his occlumency training as he easily hid his tremendous desperation for sustenance and said, "If you've come to enjoy the performance with some light refreshments, I'm afraid to inform you that you're too late."

Without a word, the stranger walked over to Severus, unbound his hands, and gave him a loaf of bread and a piece of cheese. "Eat," he said simply.

Severus watched the stranger walk back over to a recess in the wall, from which he retrieved two goblets. Before the stranger could continue whatever game he was playing in this spontaneous show of kindness, Severus decided to go on the attack.

"Who are you, why am I here, and what do you plan to do with me? And before you decide that silence is an adequate answer, I would like to pose one more question: would Christine approve of the way you are treating me?" Severus asked.

The stranger froze, and Severus was pleased that his careful study of the room (specifically the items on the bureau nearby) had paid off. He was less pleased, however, when the stranger crossed the room at lightning speed to deliver a swift punch to the gut.

"The next time you disgrace her name with your petty scorn, my fist will be clenching a knife," said the stranger

"And… what if… it is?" Severus wheezed, "For all I know… I am here for the rest of my life… as your prisoner, to keep you entertained with my torture. If that is the case, I have no qualms shortening my miserable existence and making yours as much of a living hell as I can possibly manage. If that is not the case, I promise you that it is in your best interest to tell me now."

The stranger paused for a moment, before turning around and walking back to the table where he had left the wine and the goblets. Severus was about to levy another insult against who he presumed was his captor's beau when the stranger broke the silence, still with his back turned.

"My name is not important, but for the purpose of how to address me, you may call me the Phantom."

Severus snorted. "The Phantom? Your pardons, I had not realized I was staying in a haunted opera house; will the boogieman be joining us for dinner for this repast?"

"Those who live in glass houses should not throw stones, Half-Blood Prince," said the Phantom, "and I hope you will pardon me. Were it not for the inscription crudely etched on your pocket knife, I would never have known I was entertaining royalty."

The Phantom walked over to Severus and handed him a goblet of wine, before retreating to a bookcase in a corner of the room and starting to search for a book, "Now if you will give me just a moment, I will explain to you why you are here. In the meantime you should eat; you're no good to me starved."

Severus saw no reason to continue disdaining the food, but he was careful not to give away his desperation as he slowly ate for the first time in days. After about a minute, the Phantom retrieved a new-looking leather-bound book, walked over to Severus, and gave it to him.

"Before you ask, I stole this on a whim from Monsieur LeStrange. He had come back from shopping for his son, who was about to go to Beauxbatons at the time—yes, I know what Beauxbatons is as well—and he decided to watch our production of _L'Orfeo _before he returned home. I was simply curious as to what sort of education a wizard receives. Open to page three hundred and eighty seven."

Severus opened the copy of _Potions Typicales Pour le Nouveau Etudiant de Magique_ before him and found the page in question.

"Love's Sacrifice?" he asked amusedly.

"No, you fool, the one below it," he said, sitting back down at his meal.

Severus saw the title and suddenly, everything clicked.

"You want me to make you a cauldron of Scar Remover, to treat whatever it is you're hiding under your mask."

The Phantom remained silent, allowing Severus to piece the rest together.

"You can't make it yourself because it requires magical ingredients you have no access to and a magical hand to put them all together. I would tell you that a simple spell removes any non-magical scar permanently and you would not need the weekly application this potion requires, but you know better than to let me point a wand at you. In fact, this way is much more preferable to you; you've already researched all of the ingredients in the glossary, so you know that there isn't a single harmful or deadly application I can make of them, therefore you may keep me prisoner until the potion works. However, there are three problems with this plan, and I'm going to say them very slowly so that your muggle mind can comprehend.

First, acquiring these ingredients and materials requires access to wizard money, and a large amount of it. You've searched my pockets, so you know I have none, and I doubt that you have somehow managed to rob Le Mur—I presume you know that is the wizard bank of Paris, you clever fellow—and I have no intention of becoming a wizard janitor to earn the money for your beauty regimen.

Second, there is the issue of access to these ingredients. I presume that you know where the entrance to the wizard market in Paris is, but most magical locations within large cities require the presence of a wizard before the enchantments concealing or barring their entrances are lifted, and so you would have to take me from this dungeon, where my opportunities for escape will be multiplied tenfold, and you must know that I will take advantage of them when they arise.

Finally, and let me make this particularly clear, I have no intention _whatsoever_ to enslave myself to a muggle, and I am perfectly willing to tolerate all of Carlotta's horrible arias until you make a mistake, and I assure you that it will happen. Not today, not tomorrow, but soon, and I will be ready."

The Phantom started to clap, slowly.

"That was a remarkably articulate and well-devised speech, my prince. You should consider politics if you return to Britain. I am glad you were kind enough to point out three obstacles to be overcome before achieving my desire, out of the twenty-seven separate ones I myself thought of while I devised this plan. Allow me to respond to the ones you thought of, you clever fellow."

The Phantom stood and walked over to a large trunk next to the pipe organ, and began to rummage through its contents.

"Concerning your first objection, I believe this should suffice," he said, as he tossed a purse at Severus' feet that contained enough galleons to purchase three members of the Hogwarts board of directors. "I'll leave it to your imagination as to how I acquired that. Here's a hint: imagine knives. I will return to your second objection in a moment. Concerning your third, however, I see it as a matter of options. Either you cooperate and I give you my word to release you as soon as I see that the potion works, or your stay in my dungeon will take a drastic turn for the shorter. Here's a hint: imagine knives."

"Now, to return to your second objection," said the Phantom, as he returned to rummaging through the trunk, "You may, as you said, acquire opportunities for escape, but I believe that these will at the very least make your attempts considerably more difficult."

The Phantom stood up straight, a silver contraption dangling from his fingers. Severus privately swore to himself; he had not counted on handcuffs.

_[Aaaand there you have it – a scene involving the Phantom of the Opera, Severus Snape, and handcuffs. You're welcome, internet.]_


	6. Chapter 6

[Salutations, internet! Sorry for the delay – life got in the way for a long time, and this chapter was also particularly difficult to write. Furthermore, I am sure the French included in here is at least half wrong, so apologies in advance for all of you francophiles out there. Anyway, hope you enjoy it!]

Chapter 6

Much to Severus' surprise, it was not the metal cutting into his wrist that was bothering him as he walked with the Phantom, to Le Marché Courbé*. Neither was it the obscenely early hour in the morning that the Phantom had chosen as the start to their journey to Le Marché Courbé, the Parisian equivalent of Diagon Alley. It wasn't even the insipid aria the Phantom was humming under his breath, no doubt to remind Severus of Carlotta's attempts to sing it the night before that had caused no less than four glasses to shatter upstairs.

No, what bothered Severus was the wet soaking through his threadbare sneakers as he was forced to trudge through shin-deep puddles through the Parisian catacombs, which cleverly concealed Le Marché Courbé. Of course, the areas of the catacombs that were open to muggle tourists had already been cleaned of the remnants of last night's rainstorm, and even thousands of human bones that decorated every wall of the long, winding passageways looked dry and clean. However, it seemed the wizards in charge of cleaning the passageway for wizards, protected by a Platform 9 ¾-like wall of skulls, had slept in this morning. If only he had a wand, he could have performed a water repelling charm and kept his clothes and shoes dry. Now he would smell of everything that trickled down from the streets of Paris until either the Phantom was courteous enough to offer a bucket of water, or he escaped. Considering his captor's present demeanor and the fact that Severus' only plan at the moment was "Step 1: Watch. Step 2: Wait," he had no idea when that would be.

"For heaven's sake, we've been walking for a half an hour already," said Severus, losing patience, "do you even know where it is you're going?"

"I was unaware that your short-cut existed, but I am perfectly knowledgeable of where we are," said the Phantom, his galoshes plushing through the water with ease, "I spend a great deal of time in the catacombs. It is the only place I can go where I know everyone will look on me and smile."

"Dear god, if you keep spitting out morbid phrases like that, it'll be nothing short if a miracle if this Christine girl doesn't turn and run the moment she knows more about you than your soon-to-be-stunningly-beautiful visage."

"We have already become very well acquainted, thank you."

"Oh really? Then why are we trudging through this slop for a beauty potion if you two are already the bosomest of buddies?"

The Phantom paused, and then said, "We… we've never met face-to-face."

"Ah, pining from a distance. How novel," said Severus, fully aware of his own hypocrisy.

"You could not possibly understand the intricacy of the situation to which you refer."

"Have you ever noticed that your grasp of English becomes significantly more complex whenever you are feeing defensive? You could probably explain in a few sentences, but doing so would betray more information than you are willing to part with. Anyway, I merely brought it up as a question that might pass for light conversation with you: I was wondering if you had considered whether the absurd extremes you are willing to meet will get you what you desire in the end anyway."

"There is not a single thing that occurs to you that hasn't occurred to me first."

"Is that so? In that case, why is it that the moment I began to speak, you unfastened the tie on the knife sheath at your hip, the one I shouldn't know about, if it weren't for fear that I might find a means of escaping that you did not anticipate?"

"A precaution only," said the Phantom, his smile again failing to conceal his clenching hands, "in case of… I believe the expression is 'idiot luck'."

"You know perfectly well the expression is 'dumb luck,' but you are hoping I will correct you and thereby call myself 'dumb.' I grow weary of these games."

"Actually, that was a flaw in my mastery of English," said the Phantom, steering them both around an area where the wall of bones had collapsed slightly, "Not everything is a game to be outsmarted, monsieur Prince."

"Of course it is, you fool," said Severus, wincing in pain as the Phantom pulled the handcuffs deeper into his wrist, "Every single idiot on this earth has their own desires, plans and secrets. You either convince them that their wants are the same as yours, find a way to sidestep the conflict entirely, or defeat them, physically if you're stronger, intellectually if you're smarter, or through their secrets if you're cleverer."

"I now understand why you have gained such a keen interest in Christine."

"I thought everything that occurred to me occurred to you first."

"Touché," said the Phantom, slowing to a stop, "Speaking of things that have escaped your notice, we have arrived at the entrance to Le Marché Courbé. I would be obliged if you were to open the passageway."

Severus turned his head and saw before him yet another wall comprised entirely of bones, although the wall was slightly pointed, like an archway. He thought back to his research for Professor LeBlanc's field trip as he walked with the Phantom, who was now pulling the hood of his cloak over the masked half of his face, up to the wall. To his right was a fully-formed skeleton who appeared to be standing sentry, and whom Severus tapped on the collarbone.

"Qui veut passer?" demanded a haunting, disembodied voice.

"Un ami des mortes," replied Severus.

Immediately the bones began to assemble themselves into skeletons, who then stood at attention in ordered lines to either side of the passageway. Between the two lines was a short (and blessedly dry) tunnel, which, to Severus' relief, contained a hose and a sign explaining that a muggle plumbing line had broke, and their best men were fixing it right away.

"Here," said Severus, handing the hose off to the Phantom after he had finished spraying his legs clean and (magically) dry, "you can even set it to whatever scent you like on that knob over there. Pity I don't know Christine's perfume or the two of you could match."

"It is my turn to grow weary of games," said the Phantom as he threw the hose aside and yanked Severus into the market proper, "diminishing and crafting insults at my Christine and my opera house in ways that would not excuse your imminent murder, but nonetheless let you stand on a box like a boy and pretend you are as tall as a man."

Severus did not even bother to hide his eye-roll as they continued down the dark, sparsely peopled alleyway, lit by enchanted floating orbs that were brightening more and more as the sun came up aboveground and shopkeeps started to open their doors. Severus felt the Phantom tense as if to strike him, and he prepared himself for another blow to the gut. To his surprise, however, the Phantom relaxed, and then, almost quietly enough for Severus to miss it, he said, "Lily is right to be ashamed of you."

Severus occlumened the hell out of his emotions as he said, "Who on earth—"

"You are exceptionally careful in what you say when you are awake, Prince, but you are not nearly so guarded when you sleep. After our arrangement is over, you should consider using your magic to silence yourself at night. It might betray you to your enemy Potter one day."

Sensing it was useless to feign innocence, Severus chose the route of more information rather than less. "What else do you know?"

"Only that Potter is a number of words I shan't repeat… and that Lily is little better."

Severus, ever a practical fellow, decided to let some emotion through to the next thing he said, lest he accidentally set the entirety of Le Marché Courbé on fire. "Don't. You. _Ever_—"

"Monsieur, this pronouncement is not from my lips but from yours. Right after 'Lily, please don't go,' always follows 'Short-sighted, foolish, mudblood girl.' I am afraid I do not know the penultimate word, but I believe I may safely assume it is an insult. Even if I am wrong, 'Heartless bitch,' and 'Disgusting whore' are English insults, I believe."

This time, it was the Phantom's turn for a punch to the gut. Unfortunately the subsequent loss of balance Severus was hoping for transferred through the handcuffs he had forgotten they were wearing and knocked them both to the ground.

"Arretez-vous!" shouted one of the strangers on the street, who started to run toward them and break up the fight.

"Non, il n'y a pas un problème, monsieur," said the Phantom, as the two of them struggled to their feet, the Phantom artfully arranging the scene so that it appeared he was helping Severus up when, in fact, he was pinning his arms to his sides, "Nous sommes tombés; les pierres ici sont un peu irréguliers. C'est tout."

Somewhere in the midst of this exchange, Severus regained his senses enough to occlumen his emotions, and even gave the stranger one of his smiles Lily had told him looked the least like a grimace. The stranger paused a moment longer, and then walked briskly away.

"For the remainder of our time here," said the Phantom taking out his knife, "my handcuffed hand will be holding this. I need a magical hand to obtain what I desire, but I have read nothing of that hand needing all of its fingers."

"Oh no, the threat of a non-magic wound. Surely there is nothing more terrifying to a people who can magically re-grow limbs."

The Phantom sighed and put the knife away. "Surely it does not need to be this way. Can we not simply acquire the ingredients, brew the potion, then part ways in perfect loathing like civilized people?"

"Fine, though let us both agree that Lily is never to be spoken of again. I have no desire to entertain your insipid, revolting lies any further."

The Phantom gave him a piercing look with the one eye that was uncovered, and in that moment, Severus realized with a shock that he had not lied.

"Agreed," said the Phantom, "but so is Christine."

"Agreed," said Severus, who turned quickly back en route to _La Potionerie_ to hide how unsettled he was at this new information.

As Severus awkwardly scooped beetle wings into a paper bag both he and the Phantom were holding with their handcuffed hands, his mind was racing. Perhaps he had been mistaken, but given his thousands of hours practicing legilimency, the likelihood of mistaking a lie for a truth in an unpracticed muggle was roughly equivalent to the likelihood of Potter passing potions. He would never even _dream_ of terming Lily as a bitch, would he? And he had scorched—the penultimate word, as the Phantom had termed it—from his vocabulary forever, or so he had thought. She may have had the worst taste in the history of bad taste, but Lily was…

Severus paused on that thought. Lily did have the worst taste in the history of bad taste. He had done _everything_ for her. He had saved his knuts for the entire year to buy her Christmas presents. Who had been there to study with her for the entirety of her Hogwarts education? Who knew her favorite color, flower, and author by heart? Him. And why had she left him for, for _Potter_ of all people? One stupid little word, pressed out of him by that idiot she was now snogging and whatever other things Severus didn't want to imagine. He _deserved_ her, she—

"Be careful with those," hissed the Phantom, "they look fragile."

Severus blinked, and saw his hand clenched around some widdybean pods. It was certainly a good thing he had stopped squeezing, or else his hands would itch for the next two months. He was just about to return to gathering them up when suddenly, it hit him.

"Depêche—I mean, hurry up," said the Phantom, "The sooner we get back to my opera house the better."

"I was simply ensuring we gathered adequate ingredients. This pod appears rotten," said Severus, casting it aside as he continued to carefully place the widdybean pods in a padded box. For the hundredth time that week, he blessed his occlumency training.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

"Dear god, must you _always_ whip that thing out while I work?"

The Phantom paused mid-stroke, but continued sharpening his knife, as he always did whenever he permitted Severus to continue brewing the potion [AN: I found this in the gutter. It's your mind.]. "How else am I to keep you motivated, Monsieur Prince? I doubt that a box of chocolates at the end of the day will do the trick."

"Couldn't you point a gun at me instead?" said Severus as he stirred the cauldron of dark purple liquid over a bright blue smokeless fire, "It would be much quieter."

"I don't much care for guns; lots of flash and bang without any subtlety at all."

"More of your signature morbidity. You and Jack the Ripper should hold parties in the catacombs."

"What makes you think we have not?"

"My word," said Severus in mock surprise, "is that a joke coming from _you_ of all people? To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"The potion is nearly done. I have been following your progress."

"So it is," said Severus, as he gave the potion a final stir, "All that remains is to wait a few seconds while the pufferpod powder dissolves, add the chopped widdy beans, and apply it to your soon-to-be-stunning visage."

"You forgot a step," said the Phantom.  
>Severus put the ladle down and looked the Phantom straight in the face. "This is first-year potions material," he said coldly, "and I received an Outstanding on my potions O.W.L., which means nothing to you, but I assure you it means I am very, very good at this, and am as likely to forget a step as you are to renounce opera and star in a West End musical."<p>

"Ugh, do not even mention that horrible English trash."

"My point," said Severus, grinding his teeth, "is that any additional steps are of your own invention, and a revocation of our agreement. I will brew the potion for you, and that is all. No other spells, charms, hexes or additional potions."

"Calm yourself, Monsieur Prince," said the Phantom, stowing his knife and getting to his feet, "I require nothing other than this potion, and I guarantee you your freedom afterward."

Severus tried to apply his legilimency training to this last statement, but the Phantom turned his head to the side, so that the mask obscured his face.

"What I do require, however," said the Phantom, "is that you first test the potion on yourself."

Severus relaxed and gave a short laugh. "Is that all?"

"Yes," he said, with absolute seriousness.

"Fine," said Severus, taking up the ladle.

"_With_ the widdy beans, if you please."

Severus mixed the chopped pods into the potion, which hissed and became a light blue. He then filled the ladle with potion, held it high above his head, and poured some into his mouth, which he quickly swallowed.

"The book says it is to be applied directly to the scarred tissue," said the Phantom.

"Of which I have none, since my scars have been magically removed." Seeing that his kidnapper was about to interject, he added, "Listen, do you honestly think I would _consume_ a potion that would cause any harm? Just put the damn thing on your face so I can go _home_ please."

The Phantom paused for a moment, and then sighed. "You are right, Monsieur Prince," he said, "It is unfair of me to draw this out a moment longer than necessary. You are already being punished for no crime, and you have been good enough to ignore the eight possible avenues of escape I had carelessly left open this past week in my excitement to see Christine with my true face. I have been unkind and unfair to you, and you have been good to me, and for my part in your recent suffering, I apologize."

"Thank you," said Severus, with a curt nod, "now for god's sake let's finish this business."

The Phantom ladled some of the cauldron's contents into a glass, walked over to a wall covered in scarves, and took them down to reveal a mirror. Then, slowly, as if to savor that it was the last time he would ever need to do it, he removed his mask. It was not Severus but the Phantom who flinched at the sight of his face, covered in deep red gashes, missing patches of skin, and pink, shiny scar tissue; clearly he had not seen his own face in years. Severus then watched as the Phantom began to apply the salve.

The change was immediate. Scars melted away, hair started to regrow, and new, perfect skin grew and covered where before there had been only charred flesh. Within moments, Severus saw a man standing before the mirror whom he would have passed without second thought on a common street, and whom half the girls at Hogwarts would fawn over worse than Potter.

"I...I…" said the Phantom, placing his hands on either side of the full-length mirror.

"Yes, I know," said Severus, and in spite of himself, a small smile started to curl his lips.

"I feel…" said the Phantom, tightening his grip on the mirror, "I feel so…"

He turned to look at Severus.

"Strange," he finished.

"As I said before, I know," said Severus, no longer willing or able to hide his triumphant glee.

"What have you done?" asked the Phantom, as he lost his grip and fell to the floor.

"You see," said Severus, walking forward to properly tower over his quarry, "in about fifty years from now, three Hogwarts students will discover that widdy bean pods, when heated, release a moderately powerful drug into whatever mixture they are heated in… enough to give anyone who applies it to their skin a rather impressive high."

"But the potions book…"

"The potions book called for widdy beans, with the assumption that they had already been _shelled_," said Severus with relish. "Not long after a rather impressive-sized underground drug ring is broken up at Hogwarts, most countries of the world will pass a law which states that all widdy beans must be shelled before sale. And, before you ask, the high can only be achieved through _skin-transference_."

"Why..." moaned the pitiful figure on the floor, who began to curl his arms around the cup of potion he knew he would never be able to use, like a child might cradle a dead bird.

"There were thirteen avenues for escape within the past week," said Severus, now with more bile. "You forgot to include the times I might have _killed_ you for kidnapping me and forcing me to work for you, a muggle, like a common house elf. However, I could not resist the temptation to wait for the moment when you cowered at my feet, where you and your kind _belong_."

Smiling to himself, Severus spun on his heel, grabbed the bag of remaining galleons, purchased a new wand and the ingredients for another time turner from le Marché Courbé, and returned safely to Hogwarts.

That was what he had planned, at least. However, around half-way through aforementioned heel-spin, Severus felt something on his exposed ankle. He looked down and realized that when he had thought the Phantom had been cradling his potion, he had actually been scooping up a rather large gob of it. He knew this because aforementioned gob was now quite solidly spread over the back of his leg.

_Well shit,_ Severus thought, as the room, rather than his heel, began to spin.


	8. Chapter 8

[Hi boys and girls! For starters, thanks for coming back after what was probably the darkest chapter of this fic. I would like to personally assure you all, however, that if the last chapter was a little dark, it is more than made up for by the complete ridiculousness of the chapter I present to you now. Internet, I would like to introduce you to Severus Snape and the Phantom of the Opera, who are both currently high as kites.

Before I begin, I would like to fend off an inevitable future review: To those of you out there who have actually been high/seen high people/watched a TLC special which talked about high people, and would like to point out that what I am about to describe is nothing like what being high is actually like, I would like to say two things. 1) I know. 2) My operating principle in writing this chapter was the rule of funny (if it's funny, write it), at the expense of accuracy. 3) These are maaaaaaagical drugs, that make people behave in ways that any specific muggle drug can't. 4) I'm the god of this universe, so shut up or I'll write you into the text just so I can smite you.

Enjoy!]

Chapter 8

There were so many colors. How did he never notice them all before? There wasn't just blue and purple but also blue-purple. Blurple. You know what I mean?"

"You are_ absolument_ _ridicule_," responded the Phantom to the somewhere-in-the-second-half in which Snape's narration became verbal, "Blurple? Not purlue?"

"English is my first language, not yours, dickwad," responded Snape who, as you can imagine, would never have used such a word were he not stretched out on an armchair in the Phantom's dungeon, higher than the Hogwarts astronomy tower.

"Stop using words I don't know," said the Phantom, who had his back to the side of the organ across the room. He would never remember it, but only a few minutes ago he had composed "Chopsticks." Someone upstairs had heard faint strains of it, and was now resolved to impress his friends with it at the next party with a piano he attended, thus beginning a proud tradition of lame which continues to the present day.

"Then you stop speaking in French, diiick waaad," responded Snape, as he began to examine his thumbs to determine which one was longer.

The Phantom sighed, and turned his head toward Severus. His face was perfectly healed now, although the effect was sure to wear off as soon as the high did. "You don't really believe that, do you?" he asked.

"How can I not believe in French?"

"No, you _con_, what you said earlier, about 16 ways to escape, and not magic people being at your feet."

Severus shrugged. "I was kind of making it up, actually."

"_Donc_, but do you believe it?"

Severus shrugged again. "It's something convenient to believe if you want to know powerful people, where I come from."

"_Donc_, but do you… do you really, _really, REALLY_ believe it?"

Severus shrugged again. "Does it matter?"

The Phantom turned his body to face Snape fully. "Does it matter to Lily?"

Severus was shocked out of his infinite shrug loop. "How do you know about Lily?" he asked a little too loudly.

The Phantom opened his mouth, paused, and adopted a bemused expression. "_Je ne souviens pas_. Who is she again?" he asked.

Severus sighed, "Doesn't matter now, does it? She's dating potty potty, potty potty potty Potter now, isn't she?"

"If Christine ever saw another man," said the Phantom, "I would see to it that he never saw her, or anything else, ever again."

"Ugh, even while _high_ you're morbid," said Snape, putting his hands back at his sides again (the left thumb was definitely longer).

"In fact," said the Phantom, "I think I'll rig this entire dungeon with booby traps, just in case Christine ever tries to come here with _un petit ami_."

"Yeah," said Severus, "And you know what else? You should dig a canal under the opera house and put a boat in it so that when you finally do meet her, you can take her on a boat ride. Women love boat rides."

The Phantom laughed. "No wonder you're still single."

"I'm _serious_!"

"Christine's bedroom is on the second floor. How can you dig a canal from her room to a dungeon?_ Je n'ai entendu rien_ so ridiculous, and you just invented the color blurple a minute ago."

"If I had my wand I could do it."

"Fine," said the Phantom, reaching for a book to try to balance on his face, "Do away."

"Fine!" said Severus, who reached into his pocket and pulled out nothing. "Uh oh," he said, "I think I lost it."

The Phantom took the book off his face and looked at Severus, then burst out laughing hysterically.

Severus wanted to know what was so funny. "What's so funny?" Severus asked.

The Phantom was now pounding his fists against the floor, crying with laughter. Suddenly, Severus started to chuckle. That chuckle became a chortle, and that chortle became a guffaw, and before he knew it, both he and the Phantom were doubled over on the floor, laughing like neither of them had ever laughed in their entire lives and, though they did not know it, like they would probably never laugh again.

"You never figured it out, did you?" the Phantom wheezed as he wiped the tears from his eyes, "You never found out where it was."

"No, I didn't," said Severus trying to stand with his hand on the stitch in his side, "I tracked your movements for weeks but you never led me to it."

The Phantom got up and walked over to Severus. "Turn around," he said.

Snape did so, and the Phantom reached into the hood of Severus' robe, tore out a recently and hastily stitched inseam, and produced the wand. Severus, however, saw none of this, and so upon seeing the wand, gawked at the sight.

"You can do magic!" he cried as he grabbed the wand.

"No," the Phantom reassured him as he patted him on the shoulder, "you're just an idiot."

"Ok," said Snape, "now what was I going to do with this again?"

"Something about a boat?"

"Right!"

It was at that moment when Severus made a stunning discovery he would forget within the next hour: he was at his most magically creative while spectacularly high. Within fifteen minutes, not only did the Phantom have a moat leading to Christine's bedroom (complete with gondola, because Severus wasn't going to let petty things like cultural propriety stop him from putting a Venetian icon in the middle of Paris), but also a set of booby traps around the dungeon so complex that Andrew Lloyd Weber would one day be forced to write several out of his play for believability's sake, such as "The Pit of Eternal Paper Cuts And Also Lava," and guns set in the walls that shot cobras who could shoot lasers out of their eyes and could inflict existential crises with their venom.

"Don't worry," said Severus, as he added the finishing touches to his portcullis that would make anyone standing near it when it closed be frozen to the spot and trapped in an eternal musical number, "None of this stuff will get set off without your or my command."

"You still don't trust me, do you?" said the Phantom, petting a cobra who nuzzled into his palm before it disappeared in a puff of smoke to ensure that it would never know any love but the love of killing (Severus had thought of everything).

"Why the hell should I trust you?" asked Severus, who was starting to come down from his high a little as he had received a much lower dosage on his ankle than the Phantom had on his face, but not enough to realize that he was holding his wand to his captor.

"Well, if you are going to trust anyone, why not make it the person you know would throw you off a bridge if it meant an extra franc in his pocket? Then at least there are no surprises."

"You weren't really going to free me after I made this potion, were you?"

"No, I wasn't."

Severus began to wonder why he was still in the dungeon, half out of a more sober desire for freedom, and half out of a desire to get away from the figure before him who was totally killing his buzz. "I think I'm going to leave now," he said.

"I would stop you, but I'd get distracted halfway through and start, _peut-être_, throwing books in the Pit of Eternal Paper Cuts And Also Lava to see if the supreme irony of giving a book a paper cut could exist in this world."

The Phantom paused, and an expression of eureka passed across his face. "_Mon Dieu!_ I must try this!"

As Severus walked up the stairs, he turned for one last look at the Phantom, who was clapping with delight as book after book was shredded, then caught fire in the Pit, probably happier than he had ever been in his life. For a moment, he wondered if there was some deeper meaning to this whole experience or some kind of lesson he should take away from it all. Then he realized that was probably the drugs talking, and so he turned and disappeared up the stairs and into the street.

It was the moment when Severus found himself outside the opera house that he realized he was still partially incapacitated, with no plan, and wandering the streets of Paris in the bitter cold after nightfall, many miles and years from home. He was just about to express his opinion on the circumstances with an extremely long "FFFFFFUUUUUUU…," when a stranger brushed into him and knocked him over.

"Sorry, mate," the man said as he tried to help him up.

"Don't touch me, you wanker," said Severus, as he started to get up on his own.

The man stood up, and gave Severus a quizzical look. "Well that's odd," he said.

"What is?" said the woman who was now standing next to him.

"This gent just called me a word that won't be invented for another seventy years or so. And, now that I get a better look at him, he seems to be wearing blue jeans and a polyester t-shirt."

"What d'you reckon?" asked the woman, who had bent over to examine Severus more closely and was twirling her shoulder-length blonde hair around her finger. Severus himself was slowly reaching for his wand; he was getting very uncomfortable with the circumstances at present.

"No need for that, mate," said the man, who stretched out his hand to help him up, "Let me guess: time turner accident? If the Ministry paid me a knut for every one of these I've had to fix, I could buy this opera house. Of course, I've never had much use for money really… I'd much rather be paid in sandwiches. Do you like sandwiches, whoever you are?"

"Look," said Severus, who, in shock, had forgotten about his wand and instead got to his feet (without the stranger's proffered hand), "I don't know who you are, or what you're talking about…"

"Don't be stupid, mate," said the stranger, who was steering the now-standing Severus away from the opera house to a nearby ally, "believe me, you're not the first person this has happened to. Although I'll admit that pinpointing the first person gets a little tricky when you're dealing with something as wibbly-wobbly as time."  
>"What are you doing? Where are we going? Who in hell <em>are<em> you?" asked Severus, as the three of them proceeded down the alley.

"I'm taking you home, silly. As to where that is, well... I'm guessing from your regulation black uniform that it's Hogwarts, sometime around the nineteen seventies when bell-bottom jeans were still popular. We'll have to figure out a more precise date once we get inside.

As for who I am," said the man, as they turned a corner and came in sight of a blue police box, "you can call me the Doctor."

[AN: Yes, this is a deus ex machina. No, I don't care.]


	9. Chapter 9

[Welcome back, everyone! Hope you enjoyed the silliest chapter of this fanfiction. Now I'm afraid it's time for things to wind down and get Snape back to Hogwarts. Hope you enjoyed reading all of this half as much as I enjoyed writing it. Merry (super-)belated Christmas, roomie.]

Chapter 9

Severus walked inside the police box and blinked. Then he poked his head outside. Then he looked inside again. Then he shrugged and sat down on a chair that was located nearby the giant glowy mechanical thing in the center, which he supposed controlled the whole business.

"Well that's odd," said the Doctor.  
>"Something else strange?" said the blonde girl with the thick London accent.<p>

"This chap is the first human who's never done the 'It's bigger on the inside!' Ever been in a Tardis before, Mystery Man? Also, if you don't introduce yourself I'm afraid I'll have to start calling you Mysty for short."

Severus shrugged (although his shoulders were starting to hurt from all the shrugging), "I must be higher than I thought I was."

"Good lord, you mean to tell me you're on drugs _and_ messing with time turners? No wonder you're so far from home, Mysty."

"It's Severus."

"Hmm, never heard of that one. Is that another nickname for marijuana? Honestly I started losing track of 70's nicknames for marijuana somewhere around 'the green goose.'"

"It's my name, you idiot."

"Well, nice to meet you, Severus! Now, Rose, if you'd be kind enough to close the doors, I think it's _high time_ we got this lad home."

Rose giggled and hopped over to the doors to close them.

"Now then," said the Doctor, lifting up a floor panel and digging through a box underneath, "ordinarily I'd ask what date you're from, but in my experience, most people messing with time turners are trying to fix something that's already happened to them, and I can tell you again from experience that 846,293,143 out of 846,293,143 times that when you try to fix something you've lived through, you only make it worse. You'd think I'd've learned after the 846,293,142nd time…

Anyway," he said, taking out what looked like a slap-on wristband, "this little gadget right here will tell the Tardis the very second and location you came from, so if you don't mind..." the Doctor crouched next to Severus and reached for his hand.

Severus sighed and proffered his wrist. The Doctor slapped the bracelet on, which started to make funny little whirring noises.

"Now, while we're waiting, want to tell us why you're here, Sev?"

"Don't call me Sev," said Severus, as a tinge of pain stuck in his heart at her nickname for him.

"Alright, Severus. Was it a bad O.W.L.?... A dead relative?... Lady trouble?..."

"Look," said Severus, turning to look the Doctor in the face, "I have had a long, long month, and you are a very, very annoying hallucination. So, if it's alright by you, I'd like to hallucinate myself back to Hogwarts without comment, please."

"You are not interested in making friends, are you, mate?"

"Friends can stab you in the back. Enemies at least have to stab you in the front."

"Alright, suit yourself," said the Doctor, taking the bracelet off and standing upright, "now, I'm going to go and press a whole lot of buttons, and you'll be back at Hogwarts before you can say 'Harry Potter.'"

"Who?"

But the Doctor was already lifting levers and turning knobs. As the Tardis started to make a strange whooshing sound, Severus heard from behind him, "It was lady trouble, wasn't it?"

Severus turned around to see the blonde girl, leaning on a guardrail.

"Piss off," said Severus, turning back around.

"Look, mate," said the girl, who'd moved to sit next to him, "believe me. I know how things really suck for you at the moment," for a split second she glanced over at the Doctor, before turning back to Severus, "but that don't mean they always will necessarily. Stick around and maybe things'll change."

"You're an even worse hallucination than he is."

"My point is that so long as you're always there in some way, they can never say you weren't there for'em when they needed you. And who knows? Maybe the day'll come when they actually need you."

Severus was about to fire back another variation of "Piss off," when the Tardis started to lurch, and the next thing he knew, he was clinging to his seat for dear life.

"Right, here we are, mate," said the Doctor, "old Hoggy-warty Hogwarts. If I aimed right, we should be in an empty classroom on the fifth floor."

The Doctor ran across the room and opened the doors.

"Middle of the Great Hall," he said as he walked over to Severus, "at least it's the middle of the night this time, and I'm not landing on a second-year's treacle." The Doctor proffered a hand to Severus, "This is your stop, mate."

Severus got up again without the Doctor's help and walked out the door. They were indeed in the middle of the Great Hall, in the middle of the night… and Albus Dumbledore had just walked in.

"Hello Severus," said Dumbledore, stopping in front of the Tardis, "moonlighting with the Doctor, I see?"

"Why hello, Albus!" said the Doctor, coming up from behind Severus and extending his hand, "Good to see you again. Still got that scar on your knee from when we met?"

"Indeed I have," said Dumbleore, shaking the Doctor's hand, "and it's still a perfect map of the London Underground. Now, what have we here?"

"Just a bit of fun with Severus in early 20th century France is all. No need to take out the detention slips."

"I wouldn't dream of it. However, if all business is finished, I think I will be escorting Severus back to his dormitory."

"Why thank you, Albus. Also, might I introduce you to Rose?"

"Delighted to meet you," said Albus, inclining his head. Rose, however, was gazing at the ceiling.

"Are those real stars?" she asked.

"Right, you've never been to Hogwarts, have you? How about I explain in the Tardis, and we go and watch the second task of the 1932 Tri-wizard tournament here?"

"Might I suggest the third task, Doctor. The second was rather unpleasant for the audience when all 100 boggarts got loose due to a poorly chosen spell from the Beauxbatons champion."

"Of course, you're quite right. In any event, you'll be seeing me, Albus. Take care, Severus!" said the Doctor, as he disappeared into the Tardis.

Rose faced Severus and said, "Just remember what I said, mate," before disappearing inside after the Doctor and closing the doors.

"Well, that was delightful," said Albus as the Tardis whooshed out of sight, "now, if you please, I believe the Slytherin dormitory is this way."

Severus collapsed into bed as the last of his high dissipated. He began to wonder what the hell had just happened. Failing to come to any conclusions that made even the remotest bit of sense, he instead turned his mind toward what was going to happen. The Phantom was right; trust belonged with those you knew would hurt and use you, not those you hoped would not. It was time to accept Bellatrix's invitation to the Dark Arts Club, and teach muggles who would presume power over a witch or wizard to know better. It was time for the Phantoms and Tobiases of the world to pay for their insolence.

As for Lily… let her be with Potter. One day, she would need something he couldn't give, and it would be left to Severus to clean up the mess. Would he do it, though?

_Yes_, Severus thought, as he began to drift off, _always._


End file.
